Franz last summer flew to Greece
with a smoked sausage wreath
in exchange,
if food should due to culture
be 'strange' in the hotel
The old columns and museums
he unfortunately never saw
'cause an innkeeper learnt him
that an Ouzo is a must
and wine bottles - two or three
Ref:
It was the wine of Mykonos
which he poured into his nob
it was the wine of Mykonos
which gave him gaps of memory
it is the wine of mykonos
[if You're savouring too much of it]
which turns an eagle into an Albatros
In the evening with Sirtaki dance
Franz finally lost the contenance
he took amphora from Byzantium
which precious and to date complete
he threw them instead of the plates
to the wall with drunken hands
a so far unknown custom
Ref:
It was the wine of Mykonos
which he poured into his nob
it was the wine of Mykonos
which gave him gaps of memory
until he found himself at the toilet
in front of a white tile wall
somewhere in Greece
[Retsina and Ouzo
Franz never ever has been so shot
You Gods of the Olympus
what kind of stuff is that
shortly coming up again]
They threw Franz out of the tavern
due to this aphrodisiac he saw the stars
but not the stars of Athens
because Franz couldn't see anything anymore
nor could he stand upright
Ref:
The wine of Greece bore the blame
that he only found home by creeping
when he revived again
the next day with a hangover
he immediately reached with his weak hands -
of course for the wine of Mykonos
in what his vacational fortune has melted away
It was the wine of Mykonos
I think Franz never will get rid of it
at the foot of the Peloponnese
he lay there white like goat's cheese
and knew as much as Socrates
I know - hick - that I don't know anything - anymore ...